Please, Stand Still
by Mestizaa
Summary: Mrs Hughes thinks about retirement and Carson struggles to understand the appeal.
1. Chapter 1

**Please, Stand Still**

For time and the world do not stand still. Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or the present are certain to miss the future.  
-John F. Kennedy

* * *

"Do you ever think about the future?" Mrs Hughes' voice carries a tinge of hesitation. She doesn't know what on earth possessed her to bring it up. She knows what his answer will be. She slowly brings her glass of sherry to her lips and takes a small sip. Her eyes never leave him as she carefully gages Mr Carson's reaction.

He frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"

She's unsure now. "I mean," she pauses, thinking of the right words. "Do you ever think about a life after service? A life after Downton?"

"No." His answer is immediate, honest, and exactly what she had expected. She can't help but feel some disappointment wash over her.

"Oh."

He can tell that she is pulling away now. Her back is straighter, her grip tighter on the glass, and she's looking anywhere but at him. He hurries to clarify his meaning. "I suppose I've always assumed I would live and die at Downton. I don't know another life. What else I would do?"

She nods in understanding. She expected as much.

"And you, Mrs Hughes?" he asks. "Do you ever think of a life after Downton?"

She looks down into her drink and swishes the remaining liquid it around. "You'll think I'm being silly."

"Never."

"I think I'll retire," she finally says. She looks up at him now; she knows she caught him off guard. At his flustered reaction, she rolls her eyes. "Calm down, Mr Carson. I don't mean to retire tomorrow."

He relaxes slightly at her assurance. "What will you do?"

"I don't know," she admits, uncertainty layered in her words. "Perhaps I'll buy a cottage in the village."

Carson blinks. "But, what will you do with all that _time_?"

"I'll stay in bed until I feel like it, watch the sun set over the hill..." she continues, finally relaxing. Her enthusiasm increases with each word. "Maybe even take up embroidery. I've always admired Her Ladyship's work, but I've never had the time to learn."

Carson is stunned. "But... why?"

He doesn't know what the appropriate response is. His etiquette handbook is sorely lacking a chapter and as a result he has no idea how to react. He opens his mouth to say something, hoping that something would come to mind. When it doesn't, he settles for taking one last swig of his drink.

It is not everyday that Mr Carson is left speechless. It is not rooted in anger, offence, or even shock. His speechlessness is rooted in utter confusion and Mrs Hughes finds his flailing rather amusing.

"I don't expect you to understand." It's not meant to be an insult; she's only stating a fact. She knows that Service has always been his life and that he has never cared for another. She's didn't bring the topic up because she felt as though she needed his approval. She doesn't need his understanding.

"I'd like to try to understand," he tells her. "If you'd like to indulge me, that is."

"I'm no spring chicken," she tells him bluntly. She bites her lip in thought as she tries to come up with the most effective way to convey her motives. "I suppose I'd like to enjoy myself before I go."

He tries to keep his expression neutral. He's not supposed to know about how she had to face her own mortality. He's not supposed to have had to face it himself.

"Does that mean that you are unhappy, Mrs Hughes?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm not unhappy. But I'm not as happy as I think I could be."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he says with a raised eyebrow.

"In Service, we are always at the beck and call of somebody else," she explains. "I'm afraid you'll find me terribly selfish when I tell you I would like to live for me."

He nods his head in mock understanding. "I see," he says sagely.

"The effort is much appreciated, Mr Carson," she chuckles. "but you don't have to lie on my account."

"How dare you throw such accusations!" Carson huffs. In response, she shoots him a look that tells him he shouldn't even bother. He relaxes his stiff posture in defeat. "When the time comes, I expect that you would allow me to stop by from time to time," he finally says. He hopes that managed to hide his uncertainty.

"Of course, Mr Carson," Mrs Hughes smiles. "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

This is not the first time Mrs Hughes thinks about the future, but it is the first time that she shares it with another soul. She would never go as far as saying that a burden is lifted. It's more of an acknowledgement – an acknowledgment of things to come – which can be comforting in itself.

This is the first time that Mr Carson thinks about the future.

A seed is planted; a forest sprouts; he is utterly lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"It's being here now that's important. There's no past and there's no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can't relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don't know if there is one."

-George Harrison

* * *

There are plenty of trees on the grounds, and Carson had never paid much attention to them. It is only when he is awaiting Lord _Gillingham'_s arrival when he notices one for the first time in years. The staff is lined up outside the main entrance, Mrs Hughes on his left, awaiting the inevitable arrival of their guest, when his eye catches something rustling in the distance. Taking a small step forward to better his view, he turns his head ever so slightly in an effort to be discreet. He furrows his eyebrows even more at what he finds.

When had that tree gotten so large?

He recalls a time when he had been about the same height as the tree. He vaguely remembers when it had been planted, and now it must be the size of the Abbey. He curses himself for not noticing sooner. He is the Butler. It is his job to observant, to be aware of the little details for it is the little details that make things remarkable. Yet he somehow missed how much the tree had grown. He had missed the time that had gone by.

A dust cloud appears closer and Carson breaks from his reverie. Taking a careful step back, he curses himself for his lapse and hopes that nobody else had noticed.

Mrs Hughes had noticed it all. She always notices.

* * *

At the end of the day, she pokes her head in his pantry. He's staring again. Gently knocking on his door so as to not startle him, she says, "May I come in?"

He jumps. "Mrs Hughes, how may I help you?"

"I was hoping you'd join me for a nightcap," she remains hovering at the door.

"Already? But it's only..." he glances at his clock. "Oh."

She had originally hoped that he would tell her if something was amiss. Clearly, something is amiss and he is not telling her. Closing the door behind her, she takes a few steps towards his desk. "Mr Carson, is there something bothering you?"

"It's nothing." He wants to tell her not to worry, but one look at her and he knows it is pointless. She came for answers, and she will not leave without them. "Have a seat," he sighs resignedly.

"You've been rather pensive lately," she says gently.

He snorts. "By that you mean that I've been distracted."

"I have no control over how you decide to interpret my words," she teases him.

"The opposite is also true. I have no control over your interpretation of my words."

She is surprised by this. It had never occurred to her that he would way of her judgement. She searches his face for answers. "Mr Carson, what have you been thinking about?"

He hesitates. "Do you remember that conversation we had? The one about the future?"

She nods slowly, not fully comprehending the direction of this particular conversation. "That was a very long time ago."

He ignores her comment. "It got me thinking." Mrs Hughes waits patiently for him to elaborate. "About the future, that is."

When it is clear that he isn't going to continue, Mrs Hughes prompts him. "And what have these thoughts entailed?"

"I've realized that as you get older, the things around you get older too."

"_Things get older too_?" Mrs Hughes snorts. "This is the profound conclusion you've reached after staring at trees and leaving ink blots in the ledgers? "

He should be insulted, but he's embarrassed more than anything. "You noticed that?"

"Of course I noticed! You always write with a heavy hand when you're in a thinking mood!"

"Not that," he shakes his head. "The other thing. The trees."

Mrs Hughes wrings her hands in her lap. "You've never shown an interest before," she finally admits. "It seemed out of character."

"Do you think the others noticed?"

"The others don't know you like I do."

And with one simple phrase, she wipes away all of his agitation. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," she states matter-of-factly. "Now will you stop avoiding the issue at hand?"

He grimaces. The hope that she would forget is erased forever.

"You don't have to tell me, Mr Carson, though, I do wish you would," she says softly. "All I ask for is an acknowledgement of the existence of a problem."

"Like the acknowledgement of your health scare?" His words are a sharp slap across her face and he regrets it immediately.

"That was years ago." Her tone remains even but her expression hardens.

"Still, you never told me," he accuses her.

"You tricked Mrs Pattmore into telling you before I had a chance!"

"Please, Mrs Hughes," he rolls his eyes, his voice raising. "You were only ever going to tell me when you were already on your deathbed!"

"Mr Carson, that is beside the point!" she cries indignantly. She is bristling. How dare he bring that up! She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions at bay. "It is obvious that you do not wish to broach this subject, and I will respect that as long as if you extend the courtesy of respecting me as well."

Guilt washes over him. "That is not what I –"

"I know it's not," she cuts him off and stands to leave. "It's getting late. I will bid you good night."

"Mrs Hughes," he calls after her. She turns around and waits expectantly for him to continue. She watches as he tries and fails to come up with the adequate words. The confusion and the uncertainty that have taken over prompt her to speak.

"One piece of advice, Mr Carson, if I may?" she asks hesitantly.

Carson nods. "Always."

"You'll never notice the present, let alone be able to consider the future, if you are trapped in the past."

And with that, she turns around and exits his pantry, leaving him behind with nothing but his seemingly never-ending muddled thoughts.

* * *

**A/N: **The problem with multi-chaps is that you have to live up to the first one. Thanks for the support!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin."

-Mother Theresa

* * *

Sometimes Carson curses Mrs Hughes' predisposition for stirring the pot, for adding complications, for creating trouble out of nothing. So many things could have been avoided if she did not insist on taking care of everybody around her. He knows she doesn't do it maliciously – rather, the opposite. She pokes and she prods if she thinks it will be beneficial, and more often than not, he can not argue with her results. He can, and will, however, argue with her methods. Because rifling for letters in rubbish bins is uncalled for. Poking grumpy bears with sticks is unwise as it will guarantee a head being chewed off.

He marches into her pantry sometime after luncheon when she's working on household accounts. He stands at attention in the middle of the room, chin up, livery straight, a steely expression expression gracing his features. He stares at a spot just above her right shoulder.

"I am not here to apologize."

Mrs Hughes sighs and places her pen down and peers at him over the top of the page she had been reading. She is supposed to be meeting with Her Ladyship in a few hours, and that mixup in the kitchen in the morning had set her back. She doesn't have time for this right now. "Go on then. Give me the speech you've been practicing in the mirror."

"Please be serious, Mrs Hughes," he breaks eye contact with the wall to shoot her a pointed glare. "I am here to set the record straight. "

"Mr Carson, can we do this some other time?" she rubs her temples.

"Oh no you don't!" he growls. "You always sweep everything under the rug. I am putting my foot down! There is only so much you can sweep before it gets lumpy and turns into a tripping hazard!"

"I am not sweeping anything!" She indicates the pile of papers on her desk. She is more annoyed at his timing than upset. "I'm in the middle of something, and I'm already running behind."

He takes in her frazzled state. Papers are piled neatly all over desk, a single marked-up sheet in her hand. He instantly regrets barging in, but in order to save face, he refuses to let it show through.

"When you've finished for the day, I'll come by for a cup of tea and we will finish this conversation." he declares, leaving no room for argument. He quickly turns to let her be.

He is almost at the door when she calls out to him belatedly. "Mr Carson, wait." He turns around. "I am sorry." At his arched eyebrow she finds herself clarifying: "For prying when I shouldn't have."

"I hate it when you do that," he finally replies evenly.

Mrs Hughes frowns. "What? Pry?"

"No," a ghost of a smirk crosses his lips. "Act_ superior_."

A laugh escapes her, a bitter mix of humour and relief. It follows him out of her sitting room, down the hall, and through the rest of the day.

As promised, he appears later in the evening, tea tray in hand. At first, conversation is awkward and stilted and overly polite.

"How was your day?"

"Busy. How was yours?"

"The same."

She sips her tea slowly, almost burning her tongue in the process. She knows he has underlying motives because it is the entire purpose of the setting. "Oh for God's sake, just get on with it!" she snaps. "You have something to discuss and I know you want to discuss it. We can stop with the pretence already!"

He knows she's tired; it's late and she has had a long day. Part of him feels guilty for keeping her up when she could be enjoying the warmth of her bed. For whatever reason, she chose to stay up and keep him company because, for whatever reason, she wants to share his burdens. Sometimes he wonders if her shoulders ever get sore from carrying the weight of the world. "Why do you care so much?"

She tilts her head to the side. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

"Probably. I can't think of what they could be, but they probably exist."

He is reminded about the all times when he doesn't want to curse her. For the times when he is grateful to have her in his life. For all the times when she challenges him and enriches his very existence. A smile, a conversation, a cup of tea. He wonders if he has the same impact on her life.

She chuckles. "You're avoiding the subject again, Mr Carson."

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The dreaded topic has come up again. No use putting it off any longer. He clears his throat. "Mrs Hughes, about your retirement–"

Oh dear, not this again. She sighs internally, but keeps her stoic mask firmly in place. She does not want to risk him shutting her out again. She places her steaming cup on the table to cool it off.

" – when do you plan on leaving Downton?"

"I don't know. Not for awhile," she answers honestly. She shifts in her seat, adding, "It was just an idea."

Carson leans back. "I see."

"A lot of things can happen between now and then," she picks her cup off the table and gently blows on it.

"And what if something does happen, Mrs Hughes? Suppose you outlive your savings. Suppose the economy collapses. Suppose there is another war!" he exclaims. His imagination is running away and it is leaving him quite flustered. "How will you support yourself?"

She pauses. "I suppose I would have to cross those bridges if it came to that."

"These are valid concerns that you are refusing to consider," he points an accusatory finger at her.

"I don't see the point in living in hypothetical situations!" she snaps. "It might not even come to that."

"Might," Carson points out the key word. "The possibility still exists."

"Are you done chiding me?" she places her cup roughly on the table.

"I wasn't chiding."

"It was awfully similar to chiding."

He sighs and watches her across the table. She is tired and frustrated, and so is he. "My life is comprised of constants, and future is not," he tries explaining. He's staring into his half-empty cup, avoiding eye contact. "I just want to makes sure you're well taken care of."

She knows it took a lot for him to admit that and she appreciates that he did. She knows he cares about her, but it is not always when he admits it. She plays with her cup, thinking of what to do next. Suddenly, she stands and heads to her desk. He worries that he might have said something to set her off, but when she returns with a book in hand, his worry turns to confusion.

She drops it in front of him before reclaiming her seat. "Open it, Mr Carson," she encourages him.

Gingerly, he opens the book. Numbers and lists are scribbled on every line. He looks back at her in awe. "What is this?"

"Financial planning," she says simply.

He supposes he shouldn't be so surprised by this. As Housekeeper she is in charge of the house's expenses. It makes sense that she would keep track of her own. "You've thought this through," he says as he quickly flips through the book. He is a little hurt that she had downplayed her sentiments.

"Just the financial aspect," she admits. "You're right, though. There are plenty of other factors to consider."

He nods in agreement. "Finally, you see my point."

She pretends to ignore his smug comment. He can be so theatrical sometimes. "As you can see, I still have quite a bit left to save."

"It's not impossible though," he looks at it. "Judging from this, you'll be able to retire and afford to live within the decade."

"On one hand, I find it rather exciting," she bites her lip. "On the other, I would have to leave."

Carson understands her inner turmoil. He's proud of her for figuring all this out on her own, for being so close to her end goal. But it also means that she is one step closer to leaving Downton. One step closer to her leaving him.

And then an element is added to the equation and time seemingly stands still. Because up until now, they hadn't ever discussed this; it had never been a consideration.

Out of nowhere, Mrs Hughes asks Mr Carson, "Would you ever consider retiring with me?"

A rock is tossed into calm water, and status quo is gone.

* * *

**A/N:** This was meant to be a three parter. Oh well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"The future you have, tomorrow, won't be the same future you had, yesterday."  
― Chuck Palahniuk, _Rant_

* * *

She feels as though she has lost control of her most basic functions. Her mind is telling her to stop but she can't. Her mouth moves on its own accord and words that she had only ever considered in passing spill out. She knows she is in the process of mucking everything up. She is handing him a silver platter full of what he fears most – change.

Now she's done it. What on earth was she thinking?

She is really surprised that he didn't choke on his tea. His eyebrow, however, shot so far up his hairline that she could barely see it anymore. "Retire with you?"

"Not with me. Heavens, how inappropriate would that be!" she backpedals. "I meant, 'would you ever consider retiring... also?'" She adds the last bit in the clarify, and grimaces. Perhaps her loss of grammatical ability made things more confusing.

Carson's eyebrow lowers slightly. "Well Mrs Hughes, I have been considering it," he announces.

She is understandably shocked. "What?"

"You do know that I had never considered it before our conversation the other night. I like the way things are and I saw no reason for anything to change." He sounds like he has rehearsed it over and over again to perfection.

"What's changed?" she asks, perplexed.

"Many things," he says vaguely. "You know I've been here for many years, Mrs Hughes."

As much as he fights change, he does acknowledge its existence. He doesn't fight it in fear of it. He fights it because of his love of tradition. He likes the order and routine. He likes knowing what is to come, what to expect. It is comfortable. There are some hiccups here and there, but overall, his routine is always the same.

"And have you reached a conclusion?" Mrs Hughes asks carefully, shock clearly marring her words.

He grunts, mulling over his words carefully. The scattered thoughts of the future and the possibility of Mrs Hughes leaving has been weighing on his mind. There is so much that he has to say and he does not know how to say it or where to start.

"A lot of who I am is intrinsically tied to my position," he starts slowly. He has been Carson the Butler for so long. Even prior to that, he had been one half of the Cheerful Charlies. His entire life has been based upon his profession.

It's left unspoken. _Who would he be without it?_

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit," Mrs Hughes frowns. "Your every action is not governed by your position."

"Most of my actions are. " he points out. "I am nobody's father nor am I a husband. All of my household duties, the way I conduct myself in public... _everything_ is based on the fact that I am Downton's Butler."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Mrs Hughes says. Mrs Hughes can not believe what she is hearing."If you strip all the formalities away, you are still Charles Carson."

He is glad that she believes that because he worries that it's not true.

"I've been thinking a lot about it, you know," he admits.

She gives him a look. "All you've done lately is think."

"Maybe so," he says sheepishly and Mrs Hughes rolls her eyes. "I've realized that I can live without some of the constants that I hold dear. There are others that I would rather maintain."

Mrs Hughes sighs. "Are you really that set in your ways?"

"You shouldn't be so surprised," he teases her. "I am a creature of habit."

She is disappointed with herself for underestimating his love of routine. "What bit of your daily routine is so dear to you then?" She has to know what it is that will keep him at Downton until the end of his days. What could be so important to him that he would stay? Her curiosity begs to be satiated.

"My evenings with you," he finally states.

Mrs Hughes blinks, thinking that she must has misheard him. "Excuse me?"

"Please don't make me repeat it. I've talked enough about my _feelings _today." He says the word feelings like it is taboo. As if it is something that was supposed to be locked away forever, never to be discussed.

"I am sorry Mr Carson. You took me by surprise," she looks at him questioningly. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "It goes without saying, but I value your company as well," she admits to ease him of his discomfort. "But what does that mean about your future?"

Carson purses his lips. "I suppose it means that I want to have you in it."

"Oh Mr Carson, you'll always have me around." she reaches over the table. A long time ago she had told him that he could always hold her hand if he needed to and he clearly needs it now. When he doesn't immediately move, she shoots him a pointed look. "Go on. Take it. I'm not going to eat you," she laughs and he warily takes it into his own.

There are no big declarations of love tonight. No definite plans made. The future, as Carson well knows, is always changing. Bridges are built on the path of life, and other bridges burn. Tonight, a bridge is built. And Carson knows that Mrs Hughes will cross it with him to the other side.

* * *

**A/N:**Thank you for reading! And thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourited, followed, etc... You guys rock!


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